


Growing Up

by SideshowStarlet



Series: Arrested Development [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Artemis the Friendly Dementor, Barty Crouch Jr Appreciation 2k19, Barty Jr./Sirius Black friendship, Coming-of-age, Dark prince harry, Family, Growing Up, Harry is Barty Jr's little prince, Harry is somewhat spoiled, Harry raised by Barty Jr, Harry raised by Sirius Black, Harry raised in Azkaban, Time-out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 18:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19469842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SideshowStarlet/pseuds/SideshowStarlet
Summary: At four years old, Harry Potter knows he is a big boy. Unfortunately, his attempts to prove his maturity keep backfiring. Barty Jr. comes to grips with disciplining his Little Prince. Sirius finds out something surprising about Regulus.Part 5 of my Arrested Development series, in which a young Harry, abused by the Dursleys, is magically transported to Azkaban and winds up in Barty Jr's cell with Sirius Black next door. Barty is convinced the Dark Lord gifted him with Harry to raise as his Prince. Sirius just wants to raise his godson. The Dementors enjoy the drama. An unlikely friendship, and an even more unlikely family, forms!





	Growing Up

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who showed support for this series! Comments are love! Happy Independence Day from our boys in Azkaban!

Harry woke up even earlier than usual. Despite the presence of several Dementors outside his cell, he was excited. Yesterday had been his fourth birthday, an occasion marked by gifts, a cake, and a game of Pin the Tail on the Donkey (which inadvertently turned into Pin the Tail on the Dementor, and, for Artemis, an opportunity to collect blackmail material on her fellow guards by snapping pictures of them being sodomized by a children's toy).

At four years old, Harry Potter was certain he was now a grown-up. Barty and Padfoot always told him what a great Wizard he was. Barty told him he was a Prince, destined to rule at the Dark Lord's side. Padfoot told him he was a white knight, destined to banish darkness forever. This frequently led to the two men getting into arguments Harry didn't fully understand. In the year that he had known these loud, strange men, Harry found it was important to nip these sorts of arguments in the bud. Otherwise, they could go on all day, and there would be no time for them all to play together. Although he didn't really understand what Barty and Sirius found to argue about, he could usually divert the men's focus back to him by demanding toys, candies, or cuddles. When that didn't work, he let loose some "accidental magic," which never failed to make the two stop arguing and focus on Harry, and usually resulted in Harry being rewarded with toys, candies, and cuddles, anyway.

For his part, Harry loved wearing both the Prince and Knight costume from his dress-up chest. Both costumes went well with the chocolate palace the three had built together. Harry made sure to alternate between the two costumes, as it was important for Barty and Sirius to take turns getting their way. Harry had learned all about sharing and taking turns just last month when the two men were reading him his bedtime story.

_"'That's my rock!' Dora the Dragon yelled, shoving her brother Diego off her favorite rock," Barty read. The book, The Rocky Rumble, was the latest (just came out today, much to his Lamby's excitement) in Harry's favorite picture book series, Dora and Diego. The three had gathered in the chocolate palace, as they had every night since it was built, to read Harry his bedtime story. Even when Barty and Sirius spent the day not speaking to each other, or even wandlessly hexing each other, the two would temporarily put their differences aside to participate in the nightly ritual._

_Today had been one of the hexing days. Sirius had been transfigured into a donkey but was still able to talk in his normal voice (with the occasional hee-haw). Barty's face was covered in painful green spots, courtesy of Sirius' hex, with purple lines drawn haphazardly between them, courtesy of an overjoyed Harry playing Connect the Dots with Barty's new facial disfigurement. "'No, mine!' shouted Diego, as he grabbed the rock with his wings to keep himself from falling. Dora gave Diego another shove, and down went Diego! And down went the rock!" Harry listened, fascinated, and helpfully turning the pages whenever he was finished studying the illustrations._

_On the other side of the chocolate-covered bars, Sirius listened, every bit as interested in the story as Harry. The three enjoyed the literary ride of their lives. Their spirits fell as the rock fell. They felt the sadness of the fictional dragons they've come to love over the series as the heavy rock rolled all the way down the hill. They felt the hopelessness of Dora and Diego as each one was unable to roll the rock up the hill on their own. They felt the dragons' frustrations as this led to another argument between them. Harry turned the page, and there, on page eleven, was an illustration of Barty's all-time favorite fictional character to ever be portrayed in any book, play, or advertising jingle ever written. This character didn't show up in every Dora and Diego book, but the stories that involved this relatively minor character enjoyed a more heartwarming plot, more relevant lessons, and richer characterization than the stories that were foolishly written without him. At least, that was Barty's opinion. Sirius thought he was crazy to be that attached to a fictional character. Barty always pointed out that he was, indeed, mentally unstable and never pretended to be otherwise- **unlike certain falsely accused Godfathers who secretly wrote their own Dora and Diego fanfiction in a notebook he kept under his pillow.** _

_Sirius always blushed and ran off to find a new hiding spot for his secret notebook. Unfortunately, an Azkaban cell isn't a great place to hide things, so Barty always figured out where Sirius hid his book within two days of the move. One day, Barty had transformed into his owl form, slipped between the bars, and attempted to steal Sirius' notebook. This led to the duel that became known as The Blue Cheese Incident and was never spoken of again._

_Barty paused for a few seconds, building up suspense. Even Artemis the Dementor drifted more closely to the chocolate palace, interested in hearing Barty portraying this wonderfully relatable character. The three felt the chill that signified a Dementor, but they were all used to Artemis. Barty wasn't surprised by Artemis' interest in the story. He sometimes caught Artemis flipping through Sirius' secret notebook while the man was sleeping, and Harry was keeping Barty awake._

_"Read, Barty!" Harry demanded, bouncing excitedly on his lap, and Barty quickly continued the story. Barty's favorite character, Marvolo The Owl, was roused from his daytime slumber by the bickering of the two young dragons. Marvolo was perpetually grumpy, cynical, and sarcastic. Barty said this came from being by far the smartest character in the series and being constantly woken up by the petty problems of two noisy and spoilt young dragons. Barty always thanked the Dark Lord's spirit that Harry wasn't spoiled like those two moronic dragons. Sirius always said that Barty was in denial over how much he spoiled Harry. Moreover, the owl just crotchety, because he never got over being named Marvolo._

_Whatever the reason, Marvolo quickly got to the heart of the matter and suggested that the two dragons "Fly to the far side of the moon and take turns shoving each other into the South-Pole Aitken Basin." "_

_'Take turns?'" Barty read in Diego's voice. "'What's that?'"_

_Marvolo the grouchy owl explained the concept of "taking turns" in his own special way. "'Dora, you hit Diego. Then, Diego, you hit Dora. Keep going until one or both of you gets knocked out. Then, I can finally get some peace and quiet!'" Barty read in Marvolo's gruff voice. "_

_'Take turns!' Dora exclaimed. 'Diego, that's it!'" Barty read. "'I don't want you to hit me!' Diego protested. 'We don't have to hit each other,' said Dora. 'But we can take turns on the rock! You can sit on the rock. Then, you can let me sit on the rock. And we wouldn't have to fight at all!'" The story ended happily, with Marvolo drifting off to sleep (becoming well-rested for the orgies he went to every night, according to Sirius' special notebook), while the dragons worked together rolling the rock up the hill and took turns sitting on it._

_"Barty?" Harry asked when the book finished. "Who do I take turns with?" "_

_No-one, lamby. You always come first," Barty assured him. "_

_Oh, okay," he said, snuggling happily into Barty's chest. "Do you and Padfoot take turns?"_

_"Of course we do," Barty cooed, while Sirius murmured his agreement, ending in a loud "Hee-haw!" Harry's last thought before he fell asleep in Barty's arms was that he was glad he always got to be first now. He didn't want to be hit like he was with the Muggles, or even get turned into a donkey or go around with green spots on his face, like Sirius and Barty._

Harry had worn his knight costume that last time he played dress-up, so it was Barty's turn to see his perfect prince. Barty had always said Harry was blessed by the Dark Lord. Harry didn't know who that was, but he certainly seemed to have good luck since being magically transported to Azkaban- eating plenty of delicious food; sleeping in a warm, soft bed; playing with lots of toys; learning to fly; learning magic; being given plenty of hugs and kisses and almost everything he could ask for.

At the moment, he felt very lucky that the time to dress like a Prince happened to fall on the day he most wanted Barty to see him as his glorious, grown-up ruler, rather than a little baby. On the rare occasion when Barty denied Harry something, it had always been temporary. "No candy" meant "No candy until after supper." "No more stories tonight" really meant, "No more stories until you bat your eyes and say 'Please.'" "No making a mess" meant "No making a mess the Muggle way. Control your magic and make a huge mess in a spectacular way that is worthy of a Dark Prince, so I can be proud of the powerful Wizard you're growing up to be." Lately, Harry had been hearing commercials for the Rocky Horror Radio Hour- an hour of scary stories starting at midnight every night. This was way past Harry's bedtime, even with all the extra stories, songs, and glasses of water he could wheedle out of Barty. Back when Harry was still three, he had asked Barty to let him stay up late and listen to the Rocky Horror program. But Barty had been uncharacteristically firm, saying Harry was too young, and not giving an inch no matter how much Harry pleaded. But that was when Harry was a baby. Surely four was old enough. Especially when he dressed in the most grown-up-looking outfit he owned and acted mature and princely. Barty would be sure to agree that Harry was old enough for the Rocky Horror Radio Hour.

Usually, he would wake Barty the instant he himself got up, but this morning, he slipped silently out of bed and tiptoed over to his costume chest. Harry was able to dress himself, but he usually got Barty to help him put the crown on. Barty used a spell that allowed the crown to stick to Harry's head no matter how much he ran around. Today, Harry was determined to do everything himself. He easily slipped into the royal red robes and fancy cloak. Then, he put on the golden, jewel-encrusted crown and tried to copy the hand movement Barty used to make it stay on. The Dementors gathered closer to the cell to watch. After five failed attempts, Harry was getting frustrated. He stomped his foot and said one of the words that Padfoot wasn't allowed to say around Harry but did anyway. Barty stirred and let out a sleepy moan. Harry held his breath and stayed still and silent. Barty wasn't allowed to wake up until everything was ready! Suddenly, he felt the crown grip his head. He normally felt this whenever Barty's spell took effect, but this time, it felt tighter than normal. However, the squeezing sensation quickly went away, just as it did when Barty cast the spell. Shrugging off the slight difference, Harry hurried to start breakfast.

He had never cooked by himself before, but he loved helping Barty in the kitchen. Barty always told him he was a fantastic chef and a budding potioneer. He was sure he could make a delicious breakfast for the three of them. This morning, he wanted pancakes. Harry stepped into the section of the cell that served as the kitchen, while the Dementors converged upon Harry and Barty's cell as if watching a particularly interesting cooking show. Harry pouted at his surroundings. It was only now, when Barty wasn't holding him, that he realized how high up everything in the kitchen was. Luckily, he was, as Barty said, destined to be a powerful Dark Prince. Thanks to months of Barty's tutelage, Harry could fly without the aid of his toy broomstick. Nothing beat the thrill of riding a broomstick, but he could go much higher without being limited by the broom's safety charms, and there was no need to worry about balancing on a wooden stick.

Now that he could reach everything, Harry set about trying to remember how Barty usually made pancakes. He used sugar, Harry remembered, wandlessly and wordlessly summoning the bag of sugar to the counter. And he thought he remembered Barty cracking eggs. And there was definitely milk involved, as well. After floating these three ingredients onto the counter, Harry summoned the large mixing bowl from the cupboard. It was the one that Barty used whenever he was baking. It was made of stone and had snakes carved into the rim. The snakes were magically enchanted to slither around in a circle around the bowl for all eternity. Harry enjoyed talking to them, much to Barty's delight and Sirius's concern. But today it was Barty's turn to get his way (even if he was still asleep), so Harry greeted the snakes with a "Good morning!"

"Good morning, hatchling," the largest snake hissed. "What mischief are you up to today?"

"No mischief," said Harry. "Just making breakfast."

"Doesn't the bigger person normally do that job?" the snake asked suspiciously.

"Today, I'm bigger," Harry explained. "So I'm doing it!"

"I see," said the snake. "What are you making?"

"Pancakes!" said Harry. "Well, we live on a bowl, not a pan, but we'll do our best," the snake said.

Harry looked around the kitchen, certain that Barty used more ingredients than this. Let's see... did he use flour for pancakes? Harry summoned the large bag of flour over to the counter, where it landed with a soft thump. Barty stirred and stretched, as if about to wake up. However, Artemis the Dementor, seeing Harry's dilemma, floated into the cell and glided above Barty. Barty drifted back to sleep, moaning slightly. Artemis gave Harry a conspirational nod before gliding back to the hall to watch the show with the rest of the Dementors.

Harry hesitated. Even though he was a big boy, he continued to sleep in the same bed as Barty. He knew the man had bad dreams, just like Harry himself did sometimes. Barty soothed Harry's nightmares with cuddles, kisses, and lullabies. The man needed someone to do the same for him, seeing as how this "Dark Lord" that had (to hear Barty tell it) always cared for, taught, and protected Barty was (as Padfoot always pointed out) nowhere to be seen. No matter what Barty told him, Harry knew that Barty wasn't ready to sleep without his lamby. The man always slept more peacefully if Harry made sure Barty went to bed late while cuddling his little prince.

"What kind of dreams did you give him?" Harry whispered anxiously to Artemis. Artemis gestured with a blackened, scabby hand towards the sleeping Barty. Harry heard Barty mumble "My Lord." So, he was dreaming about this Dark Lord again. That was okay, then. Barty was always so happy when he spoke of the Dark Lord. He had to hurry up with breakfast, though, if he wanted to be in Barty's line of vision whenever the man woke up. Harry wasn't blind to the look of despair Barty always wore when he went from dreaming about the Dark Lord to waking up and finding himself in Azkaban. It always turned into a look of utter adoration when he laid eyes on Harry. Harry knew it was easier for Barty to get out of bed in the morning if Harry was the first thing he saw.

That settled, Harry turned his attention back to making breakfast. He wasn't sure how much of each ingredient went into the bowl, but he remembered Barty using an assortment of measuring cups and spoons. He grabbed a bunch from a nearby drawer and hovered over the collection of cooking paraphernalia. What did Barty normally do first? Let's see- pancakes were sweet, so they needed plenty of sugar. Using the wandless levitation spell Barty had taught him, Harry floated the large bag over the bowl and carefully tipped it over. About half the bag of sugar spilled into the bowl. That should probably be enough.

Harry turned to the eggs. He wasn't sure how many were needed, but he always had so much fun when Barty allowed him to crack the eggs that Harry decided to use the whole dozen. Before he could crack his first egg over the rim of the bowl ("LOOK OUT!" screamed the snakes when they caught sight of the oblong white object hovering threateningly above them.), a man's gruff voice sounded behind and slightly below Harry. "What are you doing?"

Harry whirled around in the air, but it was only Padfoot, awake much earlier than usual. "Cooking breakfast," Harry replied, brushing bits of flour off his dress-up robes.

"Doesn't Barty normally do that?" Padfoot asked, confused.

"I'm doing it today, because I'm a big boy," Harry announced. Really, why was it so hard for everyone to grasp the fact that Harry was no longer a baby? First Barty not letting him listen to the Rocky Horror Radio Hour, then the snakes on the mixing bowl, and now Padfoot. He was going to have to make Barty teach him how to wandlessly hex people, because this was really getting frustrating. How could he be Barty's perfect Prince or Sirius's leader of the light if everyone insisted upon seeing him as a baby? Well, at least the Dementors treated him like a grown-up. They were crowded around the cell, watching Harry's culinary attempts with the fascination they usually reserved for Barty's and Padfoot's arguments. Harry gave them a friendly wave, thanking them for their support. Artemis clapped her scabby hands excitedly and bounced up and down.

"I'm big, too," Sirius pointed out. "But Barty never lets me cook." This was true. Sirius's attempts to cook had always ended in burnt-on-the-outside-raw-on-the-inside roasts, small explosions, not-so-small-explosions, and a bad case of food poisoning that had the three of them sick out both ends. Poor Harry had lost almost all the weight he had managed to gain since arriving in Azkaban. He still looked sickly and skeletal for weeks after he had recovered, reminding Barty unpleasantly of the state Harry was in when he first escaped the Muggles. After the fun-filled week of caring for Harry while being sick himself, Barty had banned Sirius from ever touching a cooking implement again.

_"Didn't your house elf teach you how to cook?" Barty had asked as he stirred a large pot of chicken soup and held the still-convalescing Harry on his hip._

_"Kreacher?! Teach me how to cook? He would sooner beat me over the head with a frying pan," said Sirius._

_Barty shifted guiltily. As much as he and Sirius fought, they had, by necessity, agreed to draw the line at deliberately invoking each other's bad memories. The Dementors do enough of that for them. "Winky taught me," said Barty quietly. "My mum loved cooking, but by the time I was old enough to learn, she didn't have the energy to cook anymore. Winky always used to help her in the kitchen, though, so she knew all of mum's favorite recipes by the time she had to... take over cooking." Barty paused._

_Harry, sensing the man's sadness, hurried to distract him. "Barty! Barty!" he cried, bouncing up and down on the man's hip. Harry wandlessly summoned a few carrots and let them hover in front of Barty's face. "Put carrots in the soup!"_

_"Yes, My Lord," Barty said automatically, as he washed the carrots. He smiled at Harry. "Your Summoning's coming a long way," he said. "Truly magnificent. And you're such a clever boy to be able to keep all those carrots so close together while you're hovering them." He kissed Harry's forehead. Barty knew he was crazy, but he could always feel the Dark Lord's presence when he brushed his lips against Harry's scar. But he had a Little Prince to feed and no time to be swept up in another memory._

_"I thought you didn't like carrots," Barty said, peeling the carrots. Harry had, after all, thrown a spectacular tantrum when Barty had served him carrots with his dinner the night before. Barty, desperate for the too-thin Harry to eat some vegetables, had tried begging Harry to 'Just try one little bite, please, Lamby.' This resulted in Harry screaming like the carrots had cast a Cruciatus on him and throwing his plate. It hit one of the Dementors (Fudgy, if Barty remembered its name correctly) in the face, to the amusement of its fellow guards and Sirius._

_"I... like them now," Harry lied, hugging Barty and burying his head in the man's shoulder. He could feel Barty relax as Harry cuddled him. Harry could hear the rhythmic chopping sounds of Barty slicing the carrots. He frowned. He had never liked carrots. When he lived with the "Filthy Muggles" as Barty called them, he wasn't given enough food to allow him to be picky. He used to supplement his meager rations with food from the trash or crumbs Dudley had dropped on the floor. Now that he had enough food, he could make sure Barty, Sirius, the Dementors, and the entire population of Azkaban knew his likes and dislikes._

_That was the plan, anyway. But Barty had started drifting off into his own memories, and Harry had to distract him with something. The carrots happened to be the first thing Harry saw, so that's what he had ordered Barty to add to the soup. "Thank you for letting me use carrots, Lamby," Barty murmured, kissing the top of Harry's head and dropping the sliced carrots into the pot. "That's how my mum always made this soup. And she always cut them in strips instead of the little round slices. She said the carrots had more flavor that way." Harry picked his head up and tried to look enthused, despite his opinion that the less carrot-flavor in the world, the better off everyone would be. It must have worked, because Barty smiled, kissed Harry's forehead again, and let Harry stir the pot while Barty added the ginger and spoke about how the herb would soothe Harry's "poor little tummy," which still felt achy even after he had gone the past few days without vomiting._

"Barty says I'm a good helper in the kitchen and that your cooking could be considered bio-log-ic-al war-fare," Harry's tongue stumbled over the funny-sounding phrase.

"It's not biological warfare!" Sirius protested. "Just some improperly cooked steak! I'm pretty sure I know what I did wrong!"

"I don't want steak!" said Harry. "I want pancakes!" Sirius watched as Harry cracked the eggs over the rim of the mixing bowl, hissing out apologies to the snakes that decorated the bowl. Harry repeated the process with nine eggs before Sirius spoke again.

"Isn't that a few too many eggs, Prongslet?" Sirius asked.

"I like breaking eggs, Padfoot," said Harry, as if that settled the matter, not looking up from egg number ten. Sirius didn't have the culinary expertise to argue with that logic.

"Now," said Harry, when all twelve eggs had been broken. "Time to mix!" He grabbed a mixing spoon and stirred as quickly as he could. A great deal of the runny batter sloshed out of the bowl, but Harry didn't let that spoil his fun. It wasn’t long before all the sugar and eggs were thoroughly mixed into the milk, leading to a yellow-white concoction the consistency of melted ice cream. Barty always made his pancakes into animal shapes- snakes, elephants, and ponies. Harry tried to carefully drizzle a little bit of batter at a time from the bowl to the pan in order to make a bunch of snake-shaped pancakes (Barty loved snakes as much as Harry did, after all, and it was his turn to get his way today). The moment Harry tilted the bowl over, the entire mixture ran into the pan. Well, perhaps they could all share one giant pancake. Maybe Harry could decorate it just like his birthday cake!

But first, he needed to cook it. He reached for the dial on the stove, planning the heat up as high as it would go. However, the manufacturer's child-proofing charm prevented Harry's hand from coming within a foot of the dial. Harry tried turning it on with magic, but the child-proofing charm blocked that as well.

"Maybe you should wait until Barty gets up to turn on the stove," Sirius suggested.

"No! I wanna cook by myself!" said Harry. However, despite his best efforts, the stove wouldn't turn on.

"I have some chocolate cereal if you want some, Prongslet," Sirius offered.

"No, thank you, Padfoot," Harry declined in a tone that was as polite (and princely) as he could manage. "I'm making pancakes."

After yet another failed attempt to turn on the stove, Harry stamped his foot in the air in frustration. Suddenly, jets of flame shot out both hands. One shot of flame landed on the pancake batter, burning it to a crisp. The other landed on Harry's robes, catching them on fire. Harry screamed, the pain from the burn distracting him enough for him to tumble to the ground. Sirius, panicked, cried out for help while shooting water into Harry's cell. The Dementors tried to intervene, rushing over to Harry and blowing their cold breath upon him. However, the wraithlike guards were not used to working to prevent a prisoner from dying. The scene quickly turned chaotic, with hooded figures bumping into each other and Padfoot's jets of water colliding with the Dementors' breath and freezing in midair. In the middle of the floor, Harry lay, sobbing in pain as flames climbed up his royal robes.

_Barty was dreaming of the Dark Lord again. His Lord had sent Barty, along with a few other Death Eaters, to raid a potions warehouse. The Alyssum Apothecaries was the largest distributor of potions ingredients around the world. They were the greatest supplier of Aconite, a flower necessary for the Wolfsbane Potion. The Dark Lord wanted a stock of Wolfsbane Potion for the werewolves under his command. There was no sense in sending the vicious beasts into battle if they didn't have the presence of mind to know their allies from their enemies, after all. Additionally, Alyssum Apothecaries was the number one employer of Mudbloods and Squibs in the world. A raid on their warehouses would result in a double victory for the Dark Lord._

_The Death Eaters quickly took out the employees and grabbed all the Aconite they could transport. Barty finished putting a Stasis Charm to keep his stolen supply fresh before doing a quick head count to ensure all the Death Eaters had made it out of the building. After assuring himself that all the masked figures were present and accounted for, Barty cast Fiendfyre on the building that had been a thorn in his Lord's side for so long. The warehouse that had monopolized most of the world's supply of Aconite and tried to assimilate Mudbloods into proper Wizarding society by giving them jobs would be no more. Barty watched it burn with a gleam in his eyes. He loved the thrill of setting things on fire. Always had._

_Suddenly, he heard a panicked yell calling his name. It sounded like Regulus. Barty could have sworn that all the Death Eaters made it out of the building before he cast the Fiendfyre Curse, but he must have miscounted. The Dark Lord always came first, of course, but Regulus was his Comrade-in-Arms, his best friend since Hogwarts. Without another thought, he rushed into the burning building, following the sound of the shout._

_As Barty dodged the jets of flames, a child's screams added to the noise. What would a child be doing in a warehouse? Barty ran faster, jumping over a river of flames snaking its way through the corridor. He shouted for Regulus, but the man and child gave no indication that they heard him, only continued to scream. Barty continued running, but the corridor stretched on for miles. In fact, the more he ran, the longer the hallway became, but he couldn't stop. The more time he spent in the building, the more closely the flames surrounded him. His skin burned and blistered, but he couldn't stop running, not until he reached the source of the shouts. A flaming wooden beam fell from the ceiling, hitting him in the face. His world went white._

Barty woke up drenched in sweat and tangled in bedsheets. Despite still feeling the pain and burning of the Fiendfyre from his dream, he felt as cold as a corpse. The first thing he noticed was that he was in Azkaban. The second thing he noticed- and it caused his heart to clench in terror even more than his nightmare had- was that Harry was gone. It was then that he noticed that the screams and shouts were not just a dream. His Lamby was on fire, splayed out in the corner that served as the kitchen area, surrounded by Dementors and jets of water being shot out of Sirius’s hands. The Dementors tried to help by freezing the fire that was creeping up Harry’s robes, but they mainly succeeding in freezing the water before it could put out the blaze.

“Barty, help!” yelled Sirius over Harry’s agonizing screams. Barty focused with all his might on the happiest memory he could conjure up.

_It was a few days after Harry first came to him. Harry had been running around and tripped over, bumping his head on the stone wall. Barty hurried over and knelt beside the crying boy. He had no major injuries, just a simple bump on the head. When Harry saw Barty, he touched his forehead where he hit the wall and said “Kiss it better!” Barty tentatively pecked the forehead of the Dark Lord’s heir. Immediately, his lips where he had brushed against Harry’s forehead were filled with a burning pain, worse than the Cruciatus. Barty bit back a scream, not wanting to frighten the child. Harry climbed into Barty’s lap and snuggled into his chest. “More kisses!” the child demanded. Despite the pain kissing the child had caused him, Barty knew he would do anything to make Harry feel better. He kissed the boy’s forehead again. His pain disappeared as suddenly as it had come. Barty felt a… tingling in his lips. At the same time, he felt as if the Dark Lord were here. Not just alive, not just here in spirit, but standing in front of his kneeling form. Barty kissed Harry’s forehead again and the tingling and feeling of the Dark Lord’s presence grew stronger. He lived in Harry! He would raise the boy, nurture him, protect him, and the Dark Lord will live forever!_

Barty cast a wandless Patronus in the shape of an eagle owl. The apparition chased off the Dementors, who hung around outside the cell to watch the show, occasionally being pecked by the avian Patronus. Barty, exhausted, sunk to his knees next to the sobbing Harry, while Sirius shot out streams of water and put out the fire on Harry’s robes.

Some of the cold water hit Barty, causing him to wake up enough to be able to tend to Harry. The bottom half of his Little Prince’s dress-up robes were burnt to a crisp, and both calves were reddened and covered in blisters. Harry had no other injuries, thank the Dark Lord. Barty, unable to muster the strength required to cast a healing charm, crawled over to the counter where they kept the “Little Emergencies First Aid Kit.” It was a large box covered with cutesy animations of rosy-cheeked children falling off toy broomsticks, frolicking about with bandages on their knees, and lying in bed wearing a hot water bottle on their heads. For whatever reason, all of the children had large grins on their rosy-cheeked faces. It was one of the first things he and Sirius had ordered after Barty mastered his owl transfiguration. It was full of basic potions, dressings, and ointments to be used in case Harry became ill or injured. Both men had supplemented the supply with more advanced healing potions and ointments, until the kit was stocked well enough to put a Healer’s bag to shame.

“It’s okay, my Prince,” Barty cooed, applying Dittany to Harry’s legs. “I’m here. I’ll make you feel better.” Harry tried to climb up into Barty’s lap, but his legs hurt too much to move. Barty gathered the small child up in his arms, and Harry buried his face in Barty’s chest. “The Dittany will heal your legs. Then, I’ll put some of your Baby Burn Cream on to stop the pain.”

At the word “Baby,” Harry looked up, face red and tear-stained. “No baby cream!” Harry protested. “I’m not a baby! I’m a big boy! I don’t want baby medicine.” Despite his face being a rictus of pain and fear, Harry managed to give the Little Emergencies First Aid Kit a look of withering contempt.

“I know, lamby,” said Barty. “But you’ll always be my sweet baby. This cream will make your poor little legs feel better.”

“I don’t want it!” Harry screamed. “And I don’t like that box!” he added, pointing to the Little Emergencies box with its cutesy illustrations. “Give me big boy medicine, Barty!” Barty thought a moment. He and Sirius did have some medical potions and salves for their own use. They were neither as many nor as varied as what they had stockpiled for Harry. Still, perhaps Barty had something in his supply that would help. The burn salves were out, of course. The burn creams meant for adults would strip off a child’s delicate skin. Hence the reason the Wizarding World welcomed the invention of the Baby Burn Cream and why most magical households were willing to pay an arm and a leg to have it on hand for their children’s accidents. Still, he did have a potion meant to cure boils. It wouldn’t help as much as the burn cream, but it would provide some relief without irritating Harry’s skin.

“Of course, Lamby,” Barty cooed, applying the boil cream to Harry’s legs. “You can use mine.”

“I’m not a lamb anymore,” Harry pointed out, nevertheless allowing Barty to apply the salve. “Lambs are baby sheep, and I’m not a baby.”

“Anything you like, My La- My Lord,” Barty hastily corrected himself, while applying the potion to Harry’s healing legs. The Dittany was doing its job, even if the healing process was painful. “You must be a very strong Wizard to make fire all by yourself.”

“I made breakfast by myself, too!” Harry said, lighting up at this acknowledgement of his maturity, despite the pain to his legs. He pointed to the stove where a still-smoking skillet sat. It held something black and crispy.

“What did you make, Harry?” Barty asked. Even upon closer inspection, the black… thing… wasn’t immediately recognizable as food.

“Pancakes!” said Harry proudly. “One big, giant pancake we can decorate! I mixed it and cooked it all by myself!” 

“I’m so proud of you!” Barty enthused, while chipping away at the black cement stuck to the skillet.

“You’re such a powerful little Prince to fly around while summoning fire like that,” he added, looking around at Harry’s injured legs, the scorched dress-up robes, the burnt breakfast, and the charred kitchen. Harry scowled.

“I’m not little,” he protested. “I’m a grown-up Prince!” Then, he remembered that grown-up Princes didn’t want to get carried around all day and squirmed in Barty’s arms. “Put me down!” he demanded. “I wanna walk!”

Barty gingerly set Harry down, frowning worriedly down at Harry’s still-healing legs. His lamby (for he would always be Barty’s lamby) winced in pain and stumbled slightly but didn’t cry out. Such a brave little boy. “Careful, my love,” Barty said, holding Harry’s shoulders to help steady him.

Harry shook him off. “I can do it by myself!” he cried.

“Of course you can, dearest,” Barty cooed, letting go but kneeling close by in case Harry lost his balance. Harry, wincing in pain, brought up one foot to take a step and stumbled, reflexively grabbing hold of Barty’s waiting hand.

“I don’t wanna hold hands!” Harry cried, yanking his hand out of Barty’s and stamping his foot in frustration. This resulted in the pain in Harry’s leg increasing and Barty’s Dark Prince falling to the floor in an undignified heap. Harry sobbed in pain and frustration, while pushing away Barty’s arms. He didn’t want to be held and cuddled like a baby. He was a big boy, old enough for the Rocky Horror Radio Hour. He tried to make himself fly again, but his legs hurt too much to allow him to stand up and get the running start he needed. He fell over, scraping his knees on the stone floor. Harry’s sobs turned to screams. Barty reached out to lift his Prince off the ground, but Harry squirmed away, determined to be a big boy. Harry cried loudly enough to cause the Dementors to overcome Barty’s Patronus and swarm around curiously. He kicked his small, burnt legs in the air, which only worsened the pain.

Thinking quickly, Barty squeezed the tube of Baby Burn Cream into an empty jar he used when he had extra potions ingredients. He pushed his way through the gawking Dementors and knelt beside the screaming Harry.

“Harry?” Barty asked tentatively. “I have some Big Boy Burn Cream to help your legs feel better. Let me put it on, please.”

Harry thought for a moment, screams quieting to sniffles. “I can put it on by myself,” he said, reaching for the jar.

"Of course you can, My Prince,” Barty cooed, opening the jar and handing it over. Harry grabbed handfuls of the soothing cream and rubbed a thick layer on both legs until all the pain disappeared, and his legs, robes, and the floor around him was covered with burn cream.

“You’re such a good Healer,” Barty praised him. “Do you feel better?”

“Yes!” Harry said happily, earlier tears forgotten. Barty opened his arms for a hug, and Harry snuggled into his chest for a few seconds before remembering that he was really too mature for that sort of thing now and pushing away.

“Would you like to put new robes on?” Barty asked, looking at the ruined dress-up robes.

“No! I wanna dress like a Prince!” Harry yelled. How was he supposed to look like Barty’s grown-up Dark Prince if he wasn’t wearing the proper robes?

“Of course you do, My Lord,” Barty agreed, smiling adoringly at him. Even though the robes were burned and torn, Harry looked every inch the little prince.

“Can I fix the robes for you?” Harry thought a moment. On one hand, he was much too old to need Barty or Padfoot’s help with anything. On the other hand, Barty had always told him that Dark Princes should look their best at all times.

_As soon as Harry was magically transported to Barty’s cell, Barty had gotten rid of Dudley’s hand-me-downs and used wandless tailoring charms to fashion new robes from old Azkaban uniforms. Once Barty had gotten rid of the robe’s tears and the funny musty smell that clung to the ancient gray fabric and hemmed it to fit Harry’s tiny frame, he taught Harry colors with wandless color change charms. For the first time Harry could remember, a grown-up was patiently teaching him something fun, rather than screaming that he was too stupid to learn. Even more amazingly, this grown-up had wanted to know what Harry’s favorite color was. It was such an exhilarating experience that Harry had made Barty go through all the colors again before deciding he wanted his newly-altered robes to stay green. He now had a favorite color! As Barty added the finishing touches to Harry’s now-green robes and cooed over how the colors matched his Little Lord’s pretty eyes, Harry decided he now had a favorite grown-up as well. His new favorite grown-up had smiled at him and promised he would never have to wear Muggle rags again. Barty would see to it that Harry always dressed as the Prince he was._

“Okay, Barty,” Harry agreed. Barty went to work, fixing the rips and vanishing the burn marks. He had tried to engage Harry in a conversation about Dora and Diego as he worked, but Harry deemed the topic “too babyish.”

“Talk about grown-up stuff!” Harry demanded.

Barty hummed in thought. “The Appleby Arrows won the semifinals last Sunday,” said Barty. “Their Seeker, Lance Jacobs, almost crashed into the ground when he dove for the Snitch. But he pulled up at the last second and won the game!”

“Yay!” Harry cheered, jumping up and down. “Barty, I want to play Quidditch!”

“Almost done, dearest,” said Barty, fixing the hem on Harry’s robes. “I want Quidditch now!” Harry yelled, hopping off the footstool he had been standing on and sprinting towards the broomsticks.

Harry had received a real broomstick- a Comet 150- rather than a toy one for his fourth birthday. Barty had made him promise that he would go flying without Barty sitting behind him on the broom to catch him if he started to fall (His Lamby needed a running start to be able to fly, so Barty didn’t trust Harry to be able to stop himself if he fell off a broom.), but that was yesterday. Surely, he was mature and princely enough today to fly without a grown-up sitting behind him.

Ignoring Barty’s calls for him to wait, Harry picked up his broomstick and kicked off from the stone floor. The cold Azkaban air blew against his face as he accelerated. He shot up until his head almost touched the ceiling. This was much higher than his old toy broomstick allowed him to go. He was having so much fun trying out stunts he had only seen in the moving pictures of the sports page that he didn’t notice Sirius casting a wandless Cushioning Charm on the ground or Barty transfiguring into an owl and flying up to Harry. Barty the Owl reached Harry just in time, for the newly four-year-old Dark Prince chose that moment to stand up on his broomstick and it with his arms splayed out to his sides. Harry had seen a picture of a grown-up Quidditch player in the paper flying like that to prevent a Quaffle from making it through a hoop. He had been dying to try out that move ever since, but Barty had always said he had to wait until he was a grown-up to be able to fly like that. Well, he was a grown-up now.

Harry managed to stay balanced for a few seconds before he had to steer the broom. He turned too sharply and slipped off his broomstick with a surprised yelp. Instantly, Barty transformed into a human, caught Harry with one arm, and grabbed hold of the broomstick with his other hand. He lowered both of them to the softened ground while a terrified Harry buried his head in Barty’s chest and sobbed.

“Shhh… shhh… you’re safe now, my love,” Barty cooed, cuddling the still-sniffling Harry. “You scared me, dearest,” Barty admitted. “Don’t fly without me again. That’s a rule.”

“But I don’t like rules!” said Harry, face still buried in Barty’s chest.

“I know, sweetheart,” said Barty, rubbing Harry’s back.

“I don’t like it when you tell me what to do,” Harry continued. “I’m your Prince. I tell you what to do! You’re supposed to do whatever I say!”

“I know, My Lord,” said Barty. “And I promise that when you’re as big as me, I’ll do anything you say. But, for now, I have to keep My Prince safe.”

“No! I’m big enough now, Barty! I don’t want you telling me what to do! I hate you!” He kicked Barty’s stomach, trying to squirm out of Barty’s arms.

Barty decided to try something he had never thought he would use on his Little Prince. He had run across it in a parenting book but had quickly flipped past it, never dreaming that he would need to put his Lamby in “time out.” But desperate times called for desperate measures. Still holding the struggling Harry, Barty grabbed a pillow from their bed and placed it in the corner of the cell. He set Harry down on the pillow and crouched down so he was at eye level with Harry, who had momentarily stopped screaming and was staring at Barty with a confused expression on his face.

“Harry,” he said, placing his hands on the little boy’s shoulders. “You almost hurt yourself when you went flying by yourself. You’re always supposed to fly with me, so I can keep you safe. I want you to sit here for four minutes and think about what you’ve done.” Predictably, Harry got up and tried to run away the moment Barty’s hands left his shoulders, but Barty grabbed him and placed him back on the pillow.

“I don’t want to stay!” Harry screamed. “I want my broomstick!”

“We can try flying again later if you stay in time-out for four minutes,” Barty promised.

“I don’t want a time out! I hate time-out! I hate you!” Barty didn’t respond, except to stop Harry’s second escape attempt and plop him back on the pillow. The instructions had said that the time out isn’t over until the child manages to stay in the designated area the entire time. It had stressed the importance of not using any kind of charm to keep the child stuck in place. In addition to frightening the child, there was always the risk of accidental magic undoing the charm. The first time was always the hardest, the book warned.

Barty settled in nearby and opened a book about teaching transfiguration to young children. He kept his eyes on the book, focusing on activities to do with Harry when he was calmer in an effort to ignore what the parenting book called “acting out.” He watched Harry out of the corner of his eye, picking him up and putting him back on his pillow whenever he tried to escape. Harry stood up and threw the pillow at Barty. Barty caught it without looking up from the essay about teaching children how to change raisins into grapes. Harry plopped back down on the stone floor in the corner. He winced at the pain. This bit of floor wasn’t affected by Sirius’s Cushioning Charm.

“Barty, I want my pillow back!” Barty turned the page in his book without looking up. Harry raised his arms and silently summoned his pillow back. It hit him in the face. Pouting slightly, he arranged it back in the corner and plopped down.

He tried conjuring fire again, determined to burn the book that was keeping Barty from paying attention to him. He was able to send a nicely-sized fireball in Barty’s direction, but Barty merely raised a hand and caused it to vanish in a puff of smoke without looking up from his reading. Harry yanked at the costume crown on his head, determined to throw it at Barty. It wouldn’t come off. Harry pulled harder. This only caused his head to hurt. The crown didn’t move an inch.

“Barty!” Harry cried out in distress. “My crown won’t come off!”

“I’ll fix it after your time out,” Barty promised, not looking up.

“No! Now! It hurts!” Harry yelled, pulling at the crown.

“Stop pulling at it,” Barty advised calmly. “It won’t hurt if you leave it alone.”

“I don’t want to leave it alone! I want to throw it at you!”

Barty raised an eyebrow. “Then I’m glad it’s stuck to your head.”

Harry screamed in frustration, lying on his back and kicking the stone wall. Then, he flipped back over so he was sitting up on his pillow, took off his shoes, and lobbed them at Barty. A casual wave of Barty’s hand sent them flying harmlessly off to the side.

“Barty!” Harry called, “I’m hungry!” This was sure to get him out of this awful “time-out.” Barty always worried about him not eating enough.

“I’ll feed you after your time-out, dearest,” said Barty without looking up.

“I’m hungry now! I want cookies NOW!” Harry wailed. “You’re supposed to give me what I want! You’re a bad Muggle!” Barty flinched and finally looked up. He was at the point of standing up and releasing Harry from his punishment and giving him all the cookies he wanted when he felt a cold hand on his shoulder. He glanced up to find Artemis the Dementor shaking her hooded head, keeping Barty in his seat.

“Go away, Artemis!” Harry yelled, noticing this. Artemis didn’t move. “Barty make a Pat-tro-nus!” Barty bit his lip and tried to turn his attention back to his book.

Harry tried to summon a Patronus, but he was feeling too sulky to make any progress with the high-level charm. “I hate you, Artemis!” he announced. Artemis didn’t react. “I hate you, Barty! Bad Muggle!” With obvious effort, Barty prevented himself from responding.

Harry sulked for about thirty seconds before trying a different tactic. “Barty, read to me!” Barty ignored him, turning another page in his book. “I want to sit on your lap, Barty,” Harry tried. He got no response. “I wanna cuddle!” Harry said, running out of his spot towards Barty. Barty lifted Harry to put him back in time-out, and Harry took the opportunity to do what Barty and Padfoot called his “Limpet Impression.” He wrapped his arms around Barty’s neck and his legs around Barty’s waist. Then, he buried his head in Barty’s shoulder. As Barty bent to put Harry down, Harry only clung more tightly and pressed kisses to Barty’s cheeks and lips. “I wanna snuggle, Barty,” Harry said in his sweetest voice, gazing up at Barty with wide, green eyes. With great effort, Barty yanked Harry off him and placed him back on the pillow. Harry reached out and grabbed Barty’s leg. “No, Barty! Don’t go! Stay here and snuggle!” With a pained look on his face, Barty shook him off and returned to his book. “Barty’s a filthy Muggle,” Harry decided. Barty flinched. Artemis put her hand on his shoulder again. “Filthy Muggle! Filthy Muggle! Filthy Muggle! Filthy Muggle! Filthy Muggle! Filthy Muggle!” Harry chanted. Barty closed his eyes. “I hate you, filthy Muggle!” said Harry, making yet another escape attempt. Barty clenched his jaw and returned a sobbing Harry to the corner.

“Padfoot, I don’t like time-out!” Harry cried, appealing to another adult. Barty was no longer his favorite grown-up, he had decided.

“I know, Prongslet,” said Padfoot soothingly. “It’s only four minutes.”

“Four minutes?!” wailed Harry, “That’ll take forever!” He threw himself on the floor and pounded the ground with his fists, crying loudly. This continued for the next four minutes.

Barty closed his book and knelt beside Harry, putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Harry?” he said softly. “Time-out’s over, dearest.” Harry squirmed away and continued screaming. Barty watched Harry’s tantrum with a stricken expression. Perhaps he was too harsh on his Prince. He should have cuddled his Little Lord when Harry clung to him, rather than abandoning him to the corner. “Please, my love,” Barty tried, opening his arms for a hug. Harry continued screaming, and Artemis dragged the horrified Barty away towards the kitchen.

Barty lost himself in the rhythm of preparing lunch as Harry’s screams quieted. By the time Barty finished preparing chicken salad and apple slices, Harry had stopped crying.

“Lunch is ready whenever you want it, Harry,” said Barty, handing Sirius containers of chicken salad and apple slices through the bars. Harry very deliberately turned his back on Barty and folded his arms.

“Thank you, Barty!” Sirius enthused, loud enough for Harry to hear. “It looks delicious, and I’m so hungry! I’ll eat every bite- right after I turn it pink!”

“Pink’s for girls, Padfoot,” Harry sniffled, not turning around.

“Oh, no! Pink’s for grown-ups!” Sirius boomed. “Isn’t that right, Barty?”

“Of course it is, Padfoot,” said Barty. “I’m gonna turn my lunch pink, too!” Both men turned their food a beautiful shade of fluorescent pink and chowed down.

After Sirius had finished eating, he turned his attention to the rest of his cell. “I’m gonna turn everything pink,” he declared, pointing to his bed. The blankets, pillowcases, and bedframe all turned the same shade of hot pink.

“Me too!” said Barty, painting the stone walls, ceiling, and floor bright pink with a wave of his hand.

“It’s for girls,” Harry insisted.

“No, it’s not!” said Sirius.

“Pink is for grown-ups!” Barty added, turning his and Harry’s half of the chocolate castle pink.

“Noooo!” Harry screamed. Barty and Sirius ignored him as they simultaneously turned each other’s robes pink.

“Are you grown-up enough for pink robes, Harry?” Barty asked.

“No! No! No! I don’t want pink stuff! I’m a boy, not a grown-up! Change it back, Barty!”

“You don’t want to be a grown-up?” Barty asked in mock surprise.

Harry shook his head. “No! I wanna be your lamby again. I want snuggles! I want to cook with you! I want to go flying with you! I don’t want time-outs, and I don’t want PINK!” He ran into Barty’s waiting arms and held on as tightly as he could. “Change it back, Barty,” Harry sniffled.

Barty grinned. “Wanna get rid of the pink with me?” he asked. Harry nodded enthusiastically, and Barty taught him the wandless Color Change Charm. Within a few minutes, everything was back to normal, and his Little Prince was asking for lunch.

“You’re such a big boy,” Barty cooed, leading Harry to his seat at the table. “I think you’re ready to get rid of this little boy booster seat if you want,” he added.

“Yes!” Harry squealed enthusiastically. “I’m a big boy now! I don’t need a baby booster seat.” Barty removed the booster seat and charmed the dining chair so it became tall enough for Harry to sit in and reach the table without needing extra help.

“A big chair for a big boy,” Barty cooed, serving Harry his lunch.

“I am a big boy,” Harry agreed proudly, tucking into his pink-free lunch.

**Later that day**

“Time to get ready for bed, Lamby,” Barty said, touching Harry’s shoulder from where he sat behind him on the broomstick.

“I wanna stay up late, Barty,” said Harry. “I wanna listen to the Rocky Horror Radio Hour!”

“That’s for grown-ups,” said Barty. “Grown-ups like pink and the Rocky Horror Radio Hour. If you listen to that grown-up show, Padfoot and I will have to turn all your things pink.”

“Eeeeeee!” squealed Harry, quickly diving towards the ground. Barty smiled with pride. His Little Prince was such a good flier.

It was when Harry was undressing for his bath that problems arose. “Barty! I can’t get this crown off!” Harry called.

Barty tried pulling, but the crown was stuck to Harry’s long, black hair. Barty had spent the past year letting it grow long, hoping the added length would keep it from sticking up. This, combined with liberal amounts of Sleakeazy, made Harry’s hair much tamer, fit for a Little Prince. Barty hadn’t had a chance to fix Harry’s hair that morning, so the long locks were messily tangled up in the crown.

After attempting to untangle the hair, Barty discovered that Harry had wandlessly cast a Permanent Sticking Charm on the crown that morning. “So talented, so powerful,” Barty murmured, kissing Harry’s forehead. He closed his eyes, smiling blissfully. He could feel the Dark Lord’s presence every time he did that. “But we’ll have to cut your hair to get the crown off.”

“I don’t want my hair cut!” Harry protested. “I wanna keep the crown on!”

“All big boys get their hair cut sometime, My Lord,” said Barty. “It doesn’t hurt at all.”

“I don’t wanna be a big boy anymore,” Harry sniffled. “I wanna be your Little Prince and get snuggles and keep my crown on.”

“I can snuggle you while I cut your hair,” Barty offered.

“And I can tell you a scary story while you get your big-boy haircut,” Padfoot added.

Harry thought a moment.

“We can eat popcorn, too,” said Barty. “You can pop the kernels with your fire spell.”

“You’ll cuddle me the whole time?” Harry asked Barty.

“Of course, My Lamb,” Barty reassured him.

“And you’ll tell me a scary story that only big boys get to hear? No baby stories, right?” Harry asked Sirius.

“Of course I will,” said Padfoot.

“And I can have as much popcorn as I want? And stay up as late as I like?” Harry asked.

“Of course,” the men agreed, with slightly less enthusiasm.

“Okay!” Harry agreed happily, running into Barty’s arms.

******************

“And the townsfolk never found Hamster Huey’s head,” Sirius concluded his spooky story.

Harry shivered slightly before remembering that he was a big boy now. Barty finished cutting his hair and easily removed the crown. He combed a bit of Sleakeazy’s through and turned Harry towards him, admiring the effect.

“He looks like Regulus at that age,” Sirius commented.

“He does have a similar bone structure,” Barty commented. “Handsome, refined.”

“All right, I know you and my brother had… a thing. No need to be so obvious about it.”

“I’m sorry,” Barty said. “About what happened to him. He was a good mate.”

“He got cold feet. Panicked over something Voldemort ordered him to do. I never found out what.” Barty shuddered involuntarily at the sound of his Lord’s name.

“Regulus was always very gentle. The Dark Lord… Not everyone was cut out to be a Death Eater. I always tried to protect him, but… sorry I couldn’t.”

“There was a war on. You weren’t his keeper,” Sirius shrugged, staring morosely at Harry’s tiny form. “I’ll always protect you, Harry,” Barty promised, giving the little boy a hug. Harry’s head dropped onto Barty’s shoulder, and he fell asleep.

“You kind of look like Regulus, too, you know,” Barty told Sirius.

“Almost like we’re brothers or something,” said Sirius.

“Well, yeah. You act like him sometimes, too. You’re both snarky. Both good at Transfiguration. And you both were annoyingly obsessed with pranking people.”

“Regulus Black, my stick-in-the-mud little brother, a prankster? Boy, you really are crazy.”

“I swear to Merlin, that man couldn’t look at a teacup without turning it into a toad. He would stop at nothing for a laugh. One time, he decided to prank Dolohov by putting a hair-loss potion in his drink. Well, the goblets got mixed up, and the Dark Lord ended up with the spiked drink. As soon as the Dark Lord took a sip, all his lovely, thick black waves disappeared. Nobody dared to comment. We all just stared at the table, occasionally daring to sneak a look at our Lord’s bald, shiny, pale scalp before quickly looking away. The Dark Lord, when he finally noticed, figured his hair loss was due to all the Dark rituals he enacted over the years. He never found out that Regulus was responsible for his baldness.”

“My little brother did that?” Sirius asked in wonder.

“Sure did! Then, of course, he had to make sure Dolohov got pranked as planned. He turned the man’s Dark Mark from inky black to sparkly pink. The charm lasted for three days, and Dolohov never found out who did it.”

“I can’t believe that!” said Sirius. “Regulus… pranking people…”

“I can’t make this stuff up,” said Barty. “Trust me, I have a million of these stories.”

Sirius grinned. “I have all night.”


End file.
